


Two Princes: Chapter I

by OnceUponAWeeb



Category: Attack on Titan, Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Drama, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Renaissance Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2018-08-06
Packaged: 2019-06-22 16:32:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15586041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnceUponAWeeb/pseuds/OnceUponAWeeb
Summary: In the Grand Kingdom of Trost, the announcement of an arranged marriage flips the Greater Prince's world upside down.





	Two Princes: Chapter I

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at fanfic in well over a decade. There will be many historical inaccuracies, but there will never be any dull moments.

_You are betrothed to me._  
_You are my sun, and moon, and stars._  
_And no matter where you rest or roam,_  
_I will never be too far._

Great.

The sour prince tipped his head against the back of his hand, staring down at the doe-eyed fool beaming at his feet. Another poem, the fifth one that _day._ Never one to be too impolite, he danced the parchment between his fingers, feigning interest. Honestly, what seas of wine were flowing the night his parents approved this union?

The Lesser Prince’s lineage wasn’t even worth bragging about. They were uneducated, unrefined farm people from the depths of nowhere. They perched their joke of a castle between the shoreline and the mountains, resembling an open sore among the otherwise pristine landscape. Ideally, a lovely place bred lovely people, but it seemed as if nature and nurture neglected their duties when it came to the Lesser Prince. The boy was bloated in the eyes and perpetually blinded by the dazzling wonderfulness he found in the world around him. How childish. How naive.

The Greater Prince had no time to school the Lesser on the ways of the world, though he often fantasized about taking a weighted stick to the idiot’s bones and teaching him a thing or two about the spontaneous, cruel realities of life. He sighed slowly. How sad it was to rely on daydreaming about bludgeoning his betrothed in order to feel relaxed.

A moment passed, a long, quiet moment. The Greater Prince basked in it, for he knew his actions would lead to a most jarring jolt of noise, an irreparable rift in his curtain of placidity. He hoisted his gaze to meet the Lesser’s, a feat worthy of an Olympian. The oaf was gawking back at him like a cross-eyed bull. Oh, what the Greater Prince wouldn’t give to clock that bull between the eyes. He could feel his blood beginning to boil, the mere reminder that this buffoon was to be sealed into his life forever nearly sending him into a rage!

He forced himself to recline and inspect the poem again.

What crap.

He deserved better. He deserved someone who could give him the world; he deserved someone as wealthy, wise, and wonderful as he. He could do so much better, yet here he was, humoring the freckle-faced, choppy-haired puppy of a boy before him. The longer he gazed at those words, the more they seemed to bend and twist and fly off the page, forming a chain, a noose that wrapped and clung to his neck, reminding him with every jerk and tug and struggle that no matter how hard he tried, he was doomed to this dull, delusional, dry, dumb, _despicable, deplorable, disgusting little–_

“Well, do you like it?”

The Greater Prince blinked. In an instant, the verse that choked his neck was sitting pleasantly back on the page, behaving, as most words do. It took him a genuine moment to compose himself and remember where he was. He touched his fingers to his neck for good measure. His eyes scurried back to the Lesser, who was waiting patiently, yet eagerly, for an answer.

The Greater Prince stared down at the paper. Now was his time to strike. His hand shook in anticipation as his mind rushed to concoct the perfect insult. Oh, there were so many good ones to choose from! Did he go for the subtle remark? Oh no, that kind of quip never cut deep enough. How about the blatantly insulting kind of rebuttal? No, that lacked tact… Another moment of mental digging, and… Ah! Now _that_ one would be perfect!

He leaned forward, a smug little smirk already stretching itself across his features. He gripped the armrests of his throne, his nails nearly chipping away at the gold of the lion heads that worked so hard to keep the Greater Prince grounded as he prepared to launch his verbal assault. There he was: in perfect position, ready to deliver a fatal blow when–

“I worked hours on it.”

The Greater Prince froze.

“I’m not a very creative person, so I had to try real hard to make sure it was perfect for you!”

He had to be kidding. Hours of work for four lines of drivel? Immediately diffused, the Greater Prince slumped back into his seat, assuming the same position in which he found himself mere minutes ago: slouching in his throne, his head against the back of his hand, dancing the parchment between his fingers.

“I really hope you like it…!” the Lesser Prince continued. The Greater Prince said nothing.

“… Jean?”

The Greater Prince cringed. He hated the sound of the Plebeian calling his name. That careless utterance might as well have been a branding on his skin that sealed him as the future property of that fool forever. Oh, how badly he wanted to tear into his fragile, glass-like heart, and yet… he bit his tongue.

“Oh sure, _Marco_ …”

That’s right. It had a name, too.

“It’s…”

“Great.”


End file.
